Indian Pipes (31 page)

“I heard his mommy wouldn’t let him have one as a little boy,” Joe said. “Had it in for bikers ever since.”

“Probably true,” Donald agreed. “Good Lord Almighty. Who’s this coming?”

A huge glittering motorcycle materialized out of the rain and mist around the curve on Brandy Brow. Joe stared. It was the giant of all
motorcycles. Blue and silver sparkles on its fenders and flank picked up the dim rain light and cast it around the bike in a misty metallic aura. The rider was wearing a matching metallic blue and silver helmet with great Pegasus wings that had tiny flashing blue lights across the front. He wore a trailing silver poncho that streamed out behind him. Silver and blue metallic tinsel rippled from the handlebars, which the biker clutched in his silver-gauntleted hands. He was wearing heavy leather boots festooned with chains. All this they could see as the motorcycle approached. As the silver cape flapped in the wind, they could see a black leather bag strapped to the seat behind the biker.

“Holy smokes!” Joe opened his eyes wide. “Batman.”

“He’s a local product,” Donald said. “You know who it is, don’t you?”

Sarah looked at him and shook her head.

“It’s Doc Jeffers.”

“Yeah?” Joe said.

As the biker continued toward Chilmark, they could see, embroidered on the back of his cloak, a caduceus, the physician’s winged staff entwined with two serpents. “He’s the only doc on the Island who makes house calls.”

The motorcycle faded into the distance on its self-made cloud. The silver cloak floated behind the biker, the wings on his helmet flashed with tiny blue lights.

“Live and learn,” said Joe.

The state police took Patience to the county jail, awaiting transportation off-Island.

Back at Victoria’s house, Elizabeth and her grandmother ate supper at the card table set up by the parlor fire.

After supper Casey came by, and so did Junior, Dojan, and How- land. Fluorescent coals shimmered beneath the back log and the fire hissed and crackled. Outside, rain pattered against the windows. Victoria sat in the mouse-colored wing chair, and Elizabeth brought out drinks for everyone. Cranberry juice with rum for Victoria, Scotch for Howland, plain juice for Dojan and the two police officers.

“I have a couple of questions,” Elizabeth said when she sat down
again next to the fire, her own drink in hand. “What about the two sets of motorcycle tracks in the barn? Who left them? And who swept them clean?”

Victoria set her glass down on the coffee table. “The first was made by Mack and Linda. She wanted to look over her uncle’s house. Her house, she thought.”

“And the second set?”

“Mack and Linda, again,” said Victoria.

Casey was rocking gently in the parlor rocking chair. “Mack confessed that they set the fire at her uncle’s.”

“So they’re the ones who swept the tracks out?” asked Elizabeth.

“Patience did, to conceal her footprints that led to the loft,” said Victoria.

“Then Patience stole the computer from here?”

“She was in the barn when the arson investigators were there,” said Casey. “She must have known Hiram’s body would be found. And she must have suspected the computer would be found, too.”

“She was up in the loft when Gram opened the door?”

“Right,” said Casey. “When she saw your grandmother, that gave her the first clue that Victoria knew something.”

Victoria lifted up her glass to Howland and Dojan. “Thank you, both of you. Howland for his magic with the computer, and Dojan for rescuing me, not once but twice.”

Howland’s mouth turned down in his characteristic smile. Dojan held up his juice glass.

Junior and Casey told Elizabeth in detail about her grandmother’s trap and her close call, and about Dojan’s terrifying wild howl. They talked and laughed and congratulated Victoria and one another and drank to Victoria’s health until Victoria’s head nodded and her eyelids drooped. Finally, Howland, Casey, and Junior slipped away, followed by Dojan, and Victoria went up to bed.

She slept late the next morning, warmed by the three cats who took up most of her bed—McCavity, Burkhart’s calico cat, and Hiram’s gray longhair. She didn’t get up until almost ten, when Mc- Cavity, vigorously cleaning the other two cats, shook her awake. Howland and Elizabeth were in the upstairs study, working on Burkhardt’s files.

“Morning, Gram. We brought you a cup of coffee.”

“While you were otherwise engaged yesterday, Victoria, I found Burkhardt’s safe deposit key.” Howland held up a small silver key. “The bank let Harley and me look at the contents of the box. No one can take anything out, yet.”

“Where was it?” Victoria asked.

“Taped to the inside of the computer case. When I removed the case to get at the hard drive, I found the key. The fire didn’t even damage the duct tape.”

“Sibyl,” Victoria murmured, half to herself. “That was why Sibyl was important.” She looked up. “What was in the safe deposit box?”

The rain beat down on the roof outside the study window, ran down the shingles in a stream, and poured into the wooden gutter, where it burbled toward the downspout.

“One hell of a lot of money. Cash. Big bills. Close to fifty thousand dollars. Deeds to his and other properties, a dozen compromising letters, a stack of compromising photos.”

“Did you find his will?” Victoria asked.

“Yes.”

Rain slashed against the windows. A leaf hit the window, stuck briefly, slid off.

“Who gets his property?”

Elizabeth had been working on the computer while Howland and her grandmother talked. She looked up at mention of the will.

“When Burkhardt found out that Linda was also dating a biker, he apparently decided to sell the property. There was a signed sales agreement in there.”

Elizabeth stopped typing.

“Who did he plan to sell it to?” Victoria asked.

“Who do you think?”

Both Victoria and Elizabeth shook their heads.

“Patience.”

Victoria and Elizabeth looked at each other, then at Howland. “Surely, that can’t be right?” Victoria said.

“Burkhardt had accepted a sizable deposit from Patience. Nonre- fundable.”

“How strange,” Elizabeth murmured. “Was that why Patience killed Linda? To ensure her ownership of Burkhardt’s property?”

“Not entirely,” said Howland. “Linda may have learned about the land deals. Was she hoping to blackmail Patience, just like her uncle?” Howland shrugged. “We’ll never know. Linda was a threat to Patience, so she killed her to shut her up. What was one more death?”

Elizabeth shuddered.

“Patience had been acquiring land in Aquinnah under a real estate trust, using tribal money to pay for it,” said Howland.

“Intending to pay it back later, I suppose,” Victoria said.

“Exactly. Burkhardt would salt a prospective piece of property with Indian artifacts. That would trigger the state law that requires an archaeological survey.”

“Which would hold up construction almost indefinitely,” Elizabeth added. “And that would drop the land value, and Patience would buy the property at a price below market.”

“Jube was working against Patience at the same time he was working for her,” said Howland. “He planted butterfly specimens on the casino site, hoping that Bugs would think the rare butterflies had been found there.”

Victoria watched the steady stream of rainwater pour into the gutter. “Patience wasn’t in any hurry, I suppose. She knew that eventually the archaeologists would determine there was nothing of significance on the site.”

Howland nodded. “She expected that once the casino was in place, land values would skyrocket, and she could easily pay the money back to the tribe. No one would even need to know she had borrowed it.”

“No wonder she was opposed to the floating casino,” said Elizabeth.

“Burkhardt, of course, knew her ploy, since he was the one planting bones and potsherds,” said Howland. “He didn’t want eighteen million dollars for his property. But he was nasty enough to try to keep his nieces from getting their hands on the money.”

“So why the deal with Patience?” Elizabeth asked.

Howland laughed. “He put a stipulation in the sales agreement that if an actual archaeological site were found, the property would go to the Conservation Foundation.”

“That was the beneficiary on his most recent will,” said Elizabeth.

“What are you laughing at, Howland?” asked Victoria.

“The state archaeologist had already investigated what Burkhardt thought was a burial site on his property. Overlooking the lily pond, actually.”

“And was it a burial site?” Victoria asked.

Howland lifted his shoulders and held out his hands, palms up, in a Gallic gesture. “But of course.”

“You said Patience would not get the deposit back?”

“That was the way Burkhardt worded it. She didn’t think there was a chance in hell that anything was on the property, and was willing to gamble. She forfeits the money, not that it would do her any good considering she’s not likely to be released, ever. And the property looks as if it’s going to the Conservation Foundation. I imagine Harley gets the cash in the safe deposit box.”

C
HAPTER
36

Chief Hawkbill had convened a meeting of the tribal council, which now consisted of only three members—the chief, Peter Little, and Obed VanDyke. The three sat solemnly around the end of the long table.

The chief spoke. “I have invited Victoria Trumbull to this meeting.” He nodded to Victoria, who was sitting next to Obed. “I also invited West Tisbury’s Chief O’Neill. Mrs. Trumbull has helped the tribe more than once over this difficult time.”

Victoria lifted a hand from her lap in acknowledgment. Chief Hawkbill nodded to Dojan, who was sitting next to Peter. “I invited our Washington representative, of course.”

Dojan stared straight ahead.

Outside, the chilly wind-driven rain beat against the large windows of the headquarters building. The polished surface of the conference table reflected fluorescent lights that had been turned on to cut the gloom.

From where she sat, Victoria could look out the rain-streaked windows and see the misty softness of the ocean beyond.

“Who’s going to serve as tribal director now?” Peter asked.

Obed looked up. “Right to the point, aren’t you, Peter.”

“The tribe needs a new leader. With all due respect to Chief Hawkbill,” Peter’s lips formed a thin smile, “he is not a leader.”

The chief glanced impassively at Peter through his thick glasses before he answered. “I will appoint an individual to fill the position on a
pro tem
basis. “With Patience’s ‘departure,’ tribal management reverts to me.”

“Until the tribe holds an election.”

“Yes, Peter.” The chief nodded. “Until we have an election.”

Obed toyed with a ballpoint pen, clicking the point in and out, in and out. A gust of wind slashed a sheet of rain against the window.

The chief turned to Peter. “Just so you understand, I did not plead our sovereign nation status when Patience VanDyke was taken away.”

“Ha!” Peter turned insolently to Dojan, who returned his look with his unsettling eyes.

The chief held up his hand. “Dojan’s situation was not comparable to Patience’s. Put that out of your mind.”

Dojan continued to stare at Peter, who finally dropped his gaze.

“The United States authorities had no intention of prosecuting Dojan. Tribal laws took over in Dojan’s case. He will work for the tribe in Washington until I determine that his time is up.” The chief continued to look steadily at Peter. “I want this understood, Peter. The matter with Dojan has been settled by the tribe. The matter with Patience will not be. She murdered coldly, for money and power. I want to hear no more, Peter. Do you understand?”

Peter did not look up to meet the chief’s gaze, and the chief repeated his question.

“Do you understand, Peter?”

Peter nodded, looking at papers in front of him.

“We must not abuse the status of sovereign nation. The courts have already ruled that we need not uphold United States laws banning discrimination. That was a wrong issue for us to challenge. I have fought discrimination all my life. Now the courts say we may practice it against others?” He shook his head. “I digress.”

It had rained all afternoon the day before, all night, and all morning. It would rain for another day at least. The hill below the tribal building sloped into grayness, where gray sky met gray sea. The horizon had washed into the wet sea. Close to the building at the top of the hill the black of wet bayberry bushes contrasted with vivid russet and pale grasses, gray reindeer moss, burgundy cranberry leaves. A gust of wind shook the building. A brown oak leaf slapped against the window and stuck.

“To business.” The chief straightened a pile of papers in front of him. “The first order of business concerns you, Peter Little.”

Peter looked up expectantly with a slight smile. Obed frowned and continued to fiddle with his pen.

“I am releasing you from your tribal duties as of today.”

Peter’s mouth opened slightly. Obed and Victoria looked up. Do- jan continued to stare straight ahead.

The chief held up his hand. “I am aware, Peter, of your dedicated work on behalf of a floating casino.” The chief’s eyes, the gray of the sea and the sky, were magnified by the lenses of his glasses. “I understand you are still on the payroll of the shipping company. Your work was on behalf of them, not on behalf of the tribe. It was for you, yourself. The shipping company pays you handsomely. I believe you will serve yourself, the tribe, and the company better if you work for only one master.”

Peter pushed his chair back slightly from the table.

“I have in this stack of papers"—the chief shuffled through them— “a prepared resignation. You may wish to sign it.” He slid a paper down the table toward Peter, who clutched the arms of his chair.

“Or, if you prefer, we will fire you. Don’t look so surprised, Peter. It is common knowledge that you have been working against the tribe. That cannot be tolerated.”

Peter’s pale face flushed. “I was not working against the tribe. A floating casino makes sense.”